“Horse-Protestant be damned,” Maurice chuckled, “I am as Irish as the rest of you, but I don’t get to blame someone whenever things don’t go my way.”

“Yes. I guess it's the foolish romantic in me, but you see, I don’t think that sex is my Muse.”

“Some good things did come out of France, but the place has become unbearably Gaulish don’t you think?”

“We have had a spot of bother. I am afraid that I shot the Bard in the bottom. Good thing that I was over fifty paces away.”

“Are you sayin' it's okay to throw yourself at someone for the sake of art but it's not okay to go around bein' nice?”

“She knew where they were going. She had visited Kilmainham Gaol before, wrapped in its brooding walls lest the ghosts it housed should break free and point accusing fingers at those who used the reins of power to drive the horses of personal ambition. It was a sad place where the residue of human suffering lingered – it had no place else to go.”

“Do you really think that one person can be enough for someone?”